


Yeah. I am a Fool.

by Kyriptid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyriptid/pseuds/Kyriptid
Summary: A piece for the prompt from one of my discord servers:Caspar"He could hear everything, but didn't open his eyes."I'm soft for him but the prompt required me to set that aside.Caspar gets hit with lightning for the first and last time.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: FE3H Drabbles <3





	Yeah. I am a Fool.

The sounds of the fight around him had faded slightly. Be it from blood loss or distance, Caspar couldn't quite tell. He couldn't feel the thumping of horse hooves or armored knights anymore- but then again he couldn't feel much of anything outside of the throbbing ache covering the length of his abdomen. Every breath he took made him regret breathing. His skin cracked and oozed around the scorch marks that penetrated his armor and scored deep into his chest. He had been so careless...

He was always careless, mind you. Reckless, even. He always rushes into battle to knock back the enemy front lines, be it from eagerness or a wish to defend his squishier friends and allies. This time was no different, even if the scenery was painfully familiar. 

Fort Merceus. A fort so embedded into his memory as a happy place that he had long forgotten it was a battleground destined to house the atrocities of war. It felt like only yesterday when he and Linhardt would romp around the fountains and splash each other until they were soaked, just to pass the time. All the picnics they had on the walls of the fortress, complete with canteens of grape juice. The training he completed in a diligent effort to exceed his family's expectations and make a name for himself despite his lack of crest. 

He was a fool. 

Fort Merceus was constructed with one purpose: defend Enbarr. 

With that purpose comes side effects: see to the deaths of all that approach with hostility.

He really was a fool. 

The professor made this operation sound so much more simple when they discussed it with the others. Disguise themselves as Imperial troops and sneak in. Caspar was one of the troops left outside to charge in once the infiltrators got the doors open. Charge in he did. 

Another Thunder spell struck nearby, causing him to inwardly wince. His wound screamed at the memory of the Thoron blasting through his midsection. He never had gotten over his fear of lightning. Despite the clarity of his phobia, his mind was becoming too slippery for him to continue grasping at coherent thoughts. A ringing had picked up in his ears. Fatigue swept across his body in such strong crests that he found it hard to muster enough energy to continue fighting for each gasp of air he could steal. For a moment he felt the ghosting of a hand on his abdomen, but the pain that cut deep into his stomach convinced him it was nothing but his feeble mind conjuring comforts in his final moments. The back of his tongue tasted a bitterness, a familiar sensation. It wasn't blood, it almost tasted like the sour petals of a dandelion. 

It reminds him of Linhardt. 

He hadn't seen him in years...only to find him defending the very fort they spent their childhoods roaming and exploring. Caspar had tried approaching him, begging him to abandon Merceus and flee before someone that didn't recognise him stormed over and took his head off his shoulders. Linhardt refused to attack him, but he was firm in his position of standing in that very same position. 

_ "I can't, Caspar. There was never anywhere safe to run." _

He had looked so heart broken. Caspar felt his own chest squirm from the foggy memory of it. Had Linhardt been crying? He couldn't recall. 

_ "Besides. While taking a blade to the gut will hurt... It's a lot less work to die than to keep living at this point. And  _ **_far_ ** _ less pointless." _

He could feel his eyes burning again. Colors swirled against his eyelids, and he fought to keep them from lulling him into slumber. The agony that had made its home in his stomach had numbed, but he knew that could never be a good sign. 

He always knew losing meant death. 

_ "Lin, don't say things like that! I'm sure the professor will welcome you back, you just gotta-" _

_ "I can't." _

Linhardt had averted his gaze, hands trembling at his sides. Fire magic flickered between his fingers, but he did not hold a stance that would easily let him let loose the spell. 

_ "Lin. Please. I... I can't fight you. We never fought! Ever!!..." _

_ "I know, Caspar." _

Linhardt had definitely cried. He wearily recalled the red rims on his eyes and the pink tint to his nose. 

_ "And I refuse for this to be first time we do. It isn't fighting if it is one-sided, after all." _

Caspar had fought back some form of angry retort that had crashed its way through his tight chest. He had wanted to shake some sense into his beloved friend, toss down his axe, anything. Anything other than be forced to take his best friend's life before anyone else could snatch it away from him. 

But the utter resignation in Linhardt's voice and stance drained every last drop of fighting spirit from him in a single heart-wrenching second. 

_ "Lin..." _

Linhardt had straightened up, looking panicked for a moment. He was beginning to say something when Caspar grunted. That's when the Thoron had hit him from some ways off. He couldn't recall much after that, but he did remember seeing Linhardt's face over his, pale with dread. He had said something, but Caspar had been unable to hear it over the ringing in his ears and the throbbing of his heart in his head. 

Maybe that was from right now. He couldn't pick apart everything from the past and present at the moment anyway. 

The next time he had opened his eyes he recognized he was on the far side of the fort, nestled in an alcove originally created as a weapon stash. The sunlight couldn't reach him. He had been partially glad- it was hot in his armor. But now he was regretting that. The warmth of the sun would feel so nice against his cooling skin. 

_ "I'll do what I must." _

The sudden recollection of those final words he heard from Linhardt squeezed his lungs with a steely grip. 

Desperate to try and rake in a steadying breath, he shakily allowed his chest to heave. He found breathing to be easier now. Or maybe he was just unaware of how little he was truly taking in, and anything more than a drop of oxygen felt like an ocean. His brain was so muddled, he couldn't begin to tell. Something wet dripped down his cheek. Was he getting cold sweats? It wasn't that outlandish to perceive. 

The din of battle slowly returned to his senses. Cries of pain and triumph, the shattering screeches of armor being busted and arrows piercing stone. The quiet sobs of someone nearby, likely on their deathbed just like he was. 

It was all coagulating together in his mind. He couldn't tell memory from sensory anymore. He thought he heard someone say his name, but then again he had been trying to recall the voices of his friends at the same time. If he couldn't make it out of his fight alive, he at least wanted to let death take him away with memories of his companions seared into his soul.

_ "Caspar... I'm sorry." _

Yeah. I am too.

His arm was nudged, likely by someone yanking a weapon out from his hiding spot. He could feel the piercing bite of cold steel pressed to his arm, even through his garments and armor. He must be laying on a sword. He was just ready to relinquish his grip, so close to giving in and letting go of the grass, when he felt warmth cover his cheek. A familiar softness was in it, and the touch moved gingerly from his hairline to jawline. 

He silenced the voice in his head that had been scolding him for his hope. This touch was not a phantom. He felt the pressure behind real human flesh. He wanted to open his eyes to confirm his suspicions, to see who it was that had time to comfort a corpse in a fortress in the heat of battle. He didn't have the courage to open his eyes, only to stare into the empty space that was housing him and have his final hopes crushed to pieces around his broken body.

_ "Stay with me just a little longer. Please...." _

With the voice came the taste of dandelions in his throat again. His chest felt lighter. He thought a bright light flickered in front of his eyelids. He wasn't fully conscious, but the warmth pressed into his cheek had yet to relinquish its comforting hold. The pain was receding, his head throbbed less. 

But the edges of his blinded vision had quickly overtaken the rest of his scattered mind. The dandelions coated his tongue in their sharp, pungent scent. Darkness swallowed his mind inch by inch, every muscle in his body relaxing forcefully as his control over them ceased. Despite the chill that had seized his frame, his heart glowed with pettering glimmers of warmth. There were worse ways to die.

_ "You fool..." _

Yeah. 

Yeah, I was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm off to nurse my heart with a bottle of Yakult. Cheers!


End file.
